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Sitting at my desktop computer, I scowl as I move the mouse to wake up my screen.
“What am I missing?” I rasp, hating the tears that are still drying on my skin. I don’t want to look in a mirror, or think about what my father just did to me. My head is pounding, so I grab the bottle of acetaminophen and pop two in my mouth. Pulling my water bottle out of my backpack, I take a quick swig of cool liquid from it to wash it down. “Think, dammit.”
Breathing hard, I begin looking at the only place I haven’t yet: her new therapist. I have a list of her current doctors, but it’s been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to look at those records.
Why do I care about what medication she’s on?
Digging deep, I find that this therapist has everything written down, and she also has all of the records from Nope’s previous therapists. Dr. Dowdall also has shit firewalls and security. This is a walk in the park.
“Thanks, bitch,” I mutter, clicking on a voice clip of when Noor was about eleven.
“He was drinking…” she whispers, making my spine stiffen. That’s a story that hits close to home. Swallowing hard, I realize this is the second of six clips and I start at the first.
It’s the story of how her father killed her mother, while he was looking for Noor. He was drunk out of his mind, and Noor hid from him the entire time. She was nine fucking years old.
Hearing the story from her lips is heartbreaking, but it gives me an idea. I need to hurt and tear her down, and now I have the tools to do it.
No one can save you, Noor. You may as well stop expecting for the world to offer you a lifeline. It’s not fucking coming.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
ONE WEEK LATER
CIARAN
Pulling the knit cap down on my head, I hurry upstairs to where the bridge looks out into the courtyard. Everyone will come out of the building in front of me to head to lunch, giving me a captive audience. It won’t be the entire high school by a long shot, but the grapevine will do the rest, as will the message boards the students use.
Gossip, who’s dating who, all of it is dumped into that space. Noor has some pretty nasty threads devoted just about her. It’s almost cute how much people talk about her when she’s far from popular.
This bridge was originally built to allow teachers to be able to cross between the buildings quickly. I’ve always thought the architecture of this school is interesting. It’s partially enclosed, while still giving the feeling of being easily accessible to the outside world.
The mix of Spanish Colonial and Mediterranean influences pair seamlessly here. However, I don’t have time to think about what Mrs. Denton was thinking when she continued to build around the original building of the school. I have a life to ruin.
I haven’t told Alastair and Draven my plans. I dug up every painful moment from the transcripts of Nope’s therapist appointments to compile this depressing opus of her life. I also annotated them on the computer so that it can’t be traced back to me before printing off my masterpiece using school resources.
There’s a special card teachers need to use to access the copy machine, but I lifted the English teacher’s this morning. There’s absolutely nothing about this that can be tied back to the Devils. I told Alexa something big is happening today and to spread the word.
The theater kids have a lot more pull than I imagined. They’re great at stirring up drama and then walking away as if they didn’t do anything. There’s a missed opportunity there and I plan to exploit it.
I know I’m lashing out at Nope because she has what my parents won’t give me: unconditional love and respect. They’re always on her side and I plan to destroy all of that. Alastair and Draven are worried about me, but I don’t know how to explain what is happening in my mind.
I broke down and explained why my face is busted up and my hair is buzzed off the morning after it happened. I was met with equal parts of horror and worry, which is completely fair. I’m giving my parents a wide berth and staying with Alastair because I don’t want to deal with their shit. I told him I didn’t want to talk about what happened, but I do need a distraction in the form of Noor Agassi.
Thank fuck he agreed and told me he’d follow my lead. I doubt he knows it’ll be this soul crushing though.
My classmates haven’t batted an eye at my hair. When asked, I told them I did it to cut down the maintenance on my hair during hockey season, which they all bought. A few of the other guys on the team did the same thing, and turned it into a bonding exercise in the locker room.
I kind of love those fuckers. I’ll never tell them how much this means to me, but it made me emotional watching them laugh and buzz each other’s hair off. They helped make me feel a little more normal, and the school is passing off the break in uniform as a bonding experience.
Thank fuck. The last thing I need is to be booked in for an appointment with Noor’s foster mom. There are quite a few students who see her for different reasons and they sing her praises. I’m not someone who shares my life easily.
I’m surprised that Nope has so many therapy sessions purging her soul to a stranger. I could never. I’d rather battle it out on the ice.
The bell is going to ring soon. Everyone will be flooding the courtyard soon to get to lunch, which means the area beneath me will be filled with students. I chose this spot specifically because it’ll be the most heavily traveled area that’s the easiest for me to get access to as people head to the cafeteria.
I asked to use the restroom twenty minutes ago, and I’m hoping no one puts two and two together with my absence. Hopefully, the teacher thinks I had to take a huge shit and didn’t have a chance to make it back to class. I’m willing to feign gastric issues as my alibi.
